Isn’t it ironic that while we detest rudimentary collection of letters such as ‘TBA’ (to be announced), or ASAP, or AWOL maybe, we still choose to hide under shelters of tentativeness?
I took a psychological exam a while ago, answering questions about my study habits, my general attitude toward things, questions, of course, about my sanity, or the lack thereof, and other mind-boggling inquiries that will make the sanest individual feel the need to tighten his screw. There is a section of the exam where I am asked to choose between Rarely, Sometimes, Generally, Always in answering these questions. It turns out that I committed only a few Rarely-ies and Always-ese, and most of my answers are Sometimes.
Sometimes, maybe, probably, somewhat, siguro, parang ganun, daw, yata— these are the catchwords of our generation, which is baffling since information, albeit unreliable, is just a click away. Everything is unsure, blame not Derrida, but our own juvenile selfishness. The most perplexing of all is how we create assurance within ourselves, of what we plan to create and destroy, by disregarding the possibility of assurance itself.
In seems to me, in these times: tentativeness is God, words are rituals, absence is hell, and conviction is perfection. There is no messiah.